


A spliting image

by Words_of_mine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of War, Not Canon Compliant, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Words_of_mine/pseuds/Words_of_mine
Summary: The year is 843, the treaty of Verdun has just been signed and the Frankish Empire is falling apart.
Relationships: Female France/Holy Roman Empire, France/Holy Roman Empire (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Historical Hetalia Week (February 2021)





	A spliting image

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day two of the historical hetalia week 2021. The prompts were "500 - 1000 AD", and "tears" so I bring you grief, angst, crushed hopes and ominous foreshadowing. If you squint, you may even spot some daddy issues.

The sun was high in the sky of Aachen, shining its summer heat on the bustling capital. Around the palace and all the way to the fortified walls, people were running left and right, sorting out all that still needed to be taken care of. A treaty had finally been signed between the three royal princes, which consecrated the division of the realm in three separate kingdoms after years of conflict.

Now, all that was left was figuring out the practical details of the move and organizing the transport of everything necessary towards Paris and Ratisbon. Despite the extra work and precipitation, the mood was joyous, for the treaty meant the end of the constant plotting, fraternal wars and bloodshed. Most people never travelled away from their homes, so the split of the land didn’t hold any true meaning to them, but surely now that the succession had been taken care of there could be peace. Some even dared to hope for a lasting one. Away from the restless crowds, however, a young woman was plagued by much different thoughts.

Unable to bear the joyful atmosphere of the city and the warm glow that the sun seemed to mock her with, Marianne had found refuge in the imperial chapel. The sacred building was a silent haven. There, the flickering lights of candles reflected on her tear-stained cheeks as she prayed, reciting the latin words she knew by heart, over and over again, like a mantra. Kneeling on the cold stone floor, over the crypt where she knew a white marble tomb was buried which held the remaining memory of the Great Emperor, she didn’t even know what she was praying for anymore but she clang on to the words like a lifeline.

The Empire was gone. Yet another one. Oh, the title remained, of course, because humans always loved titles, she had noticed, but the entity itself, and the man who incarnated it, the one she could almost have called a father once, was no longer. He had finally succumbed to the internal illness which had been plaguing him, after battling it for almost 30 years.

The Empire was not supposed to ever be divided, or shared. It was one of the first warning they had been given after the coronation, forty three years ago : “There can only be one Empire”. The Frankish law, however, dictated the kingdom should be split between all the king’s sons. The eldest would get the imperial title and the most symbolic cities, and the others would receive parts of the land, turning them into their own kingdoms, possibly dependent on the eldest one.

The three princes had been fighting for years, even before their father died, switching alliances and betraying each other at every turn of the way. All parties involved knew that unless one of them managed to murder the other two, there was no way the kingdom and empire of the Franks could survive as it was.

Deep down, Marianne had known what was coming. She had seen Rome’s collapse, had witnessed the sickness which had made him too weak to defend himself, she knew the symptoms. But she had refused to believe it, hoped it was just a bad moment. It couldn’t be true, not again, not another one. Not when she had found a place where she was safe and cared for after the whole mess that had been Rome’s downfall.

Things had been so easy before then, under roman rule. No worries about politics and invasions, all she had to care about was agriculture, art and religion, learning how to please and how to charm. She barely remembered anything about her mother. All she had ever known was what Rome had taught her, had given her. As bad as he could get sometimes, she believed he had cared about his wards, enough to keep them alive, to protect them, to see them grow and share his knowledge with them. And they had grown, side by side, her and Hispania, and Lusitania, and the Italia brothers, not exactly siblings but held together in their little bubble next to the other conquered territories.

Then it all slowly went to hell. Byzantium - he hated to be called that so she made a point to always use that name. It was either that or “pompous idiot”, which sounded equally fitting - had left to do its own thing in the east. Rome had started coughing, more and more as time went by. His drinking increased proportionally, to erase the pain. Each time one of those barbarian tribe managed to inflict a big enough hit to bargain for a bit of land, used the pretence of subordination to increase their own power from within like a pack of leeches, Rome’s health got visibly worse, until he was only a shadow of himself.

The Huns, once a distant myth brought by foreign populations fleeing west, got closer and closer and became a very present threat. Some more cooperative tribes had tried to warn him of the danger, but Rome was already weakened. The Huns themselves had found allies of their own in the east, which thought they could use this momentum to take over entirely. Eventually it took an entire coalition of Franks, Wisigoths, Armoricans and remaining Roman legions to push them back. Too late.

Marianne had stayed with Rome until the very end, even as she was directly threatened, even as her hold was reduced to an enclave in her northern territories, with a front row seat to the slow and unstoppable destruction of her childhood world. Until the day he sent them all away to deal with their own fate, left Romano behind and moved to Ravenna with Veneziano to await his death.

When he fell, the Franks took her in, wiped her tears away and promised to keep her safe. Frank was a practical and ambitious man, unafraid of using violence to reach his goal but he had dealt with Rome for long enough to understand the benefits of diplomacy. He taught her how to fight, how to make the best of what she had, how to take decisions, how to distinguish emotion from reason. How to rule. He gave her his name and his ambition and she learned confidence and pride, revelled in the way men and women revered her, tasted a power she had only admired from the side before.

In turn, she convinced him to convert to the roman faith, translated his language to latin, integrated his rulers in her culture, gave him a legitimacy she was only becoming aware of. She had been his only heir back then. Then, conquest after conquest, as their influence expanded unrivalled, others came who claimed their share.

There had been Neustria and Austrasia who tried to poison each other so much they both ended up dead. Burgundy and Aquitaine who had survived the other two’s madness by accepting their fate as subdued provinces. There were unruly conquered territories who had to be scarred and scared into submission. There were a few very young children, too frail and weak to even be their own entities yet. God only knew how many of them would survive another decade.

When, after spreading east, the franks went south to come to the Pope’s aid and she was reunited with Veneziano, Marianne was relieved he had not disappeared with his grandfather. Although he stayed with the Papal States and she rarely saw him, it was comforting to her, the sense of familiarity that came with him. She had barely caught a glimpse of the other roman provinces she had grown up with in the centuries since their separation. Romano was apparently kept under Byzantine control, and she had seen first-hand the heretic forces which had taken over the Iberian Peninsula.

All in all, she spent most of her time as part of the trio formed by Frank’s most influencial heirs, their parts determined in their names : Western, Middle and Eastern Francia. It had been hard for Marianne to accept the other two at first. They were only conquered provinces, recently converted. Why should she, a child of Rome, the oldest heir to the Franks, growing stronger and more beautiful each day, be put at the same level as these uncivilized usurpers ?

Middle Francia was the second child to be brought in and the weakest of the three. She was always sickly, growing a lot slower than the other two. Despite several attempts at teaching her, she had never learned to hold a word properly. She was either too sick or too naive to think she would never need to defend herself, and relied exclusively on her prestigious position.

Eastern Francia came last. He looked a lot like their mentor, had the same piercing blue eyes, his features still retaining a youthful softness the other had long lost. He was often reserved but incredibly ambitious, an over-achiever. He had an exaggerated fascination for the Roman Empire and would always ask Marianne questions about her childhood there, listening intently to her stories whenever she deigned tell him.

As long as Charlemagne was alive, it had been fine, they even had some good moments together. Marianne thought maybe she could get used to this, living with those she used to call barbarians, not exactly like a family, not exactly like with Rome, but maybe something that could feel like a home.

Then the coughing came. At first it was nothing worrying, countries sometimes got sick in times of unrest. It started when Charlemagne died. His only son managed to keep the kingdom in one piece, but as time passed, and the king got older, it became clear that the next generation would split it. The past three years had just been a slow agonizing death as the three princes waged war against each other after their father’s passing.

Marianne could still hear the oh so familiar wheezing sounds resonating in the palace’s walls as the sickness got worse, the bloody stains left on white sheets after each fit that Frank had tried to conceal. He had laughed his usual echoing belly laugh, telling the three of them he was perfectly fine, just a little too loud, just a little too forced. And when she had tried to speak up because she knew, she knew, and he had promised, he had taken her hand in his, brushed large fingers against her cheek and a strained voice, uncharacteristically soft, had said : “Don’t worry yourself so much, child, and keep your head up.”

They had fought each other, all three of them, as the end drew near, mostly Eastern and Western Francia against Middle Francia, to make sure they wouldn’t become mere vassals to her imperial status, or worse, disappear completely if she had her way. She was too weak to resist. They had to fight if they wanted to live, had to be stronger than the others. They eventually reached a point of stalemate and their princes came to an agreement. A treaty was redacted in a small town in the middle of the realm.

Middle Francia would get the imperial cities of Aachen and Rome with the land in between, and the guardianship of Italy which marked her as the empire in title, even though she would hold no power over the other two. Although she had the most prestigious parts, it was weird really, how impractical her borders were : a slim stretch of land across the continent separating her two more aggressive neighbours entirely from each other. A better trained eye could have mistaken her for a buffer zone between Western and Eastern Francia, as if she didn’t exist for herself. It was hard to navigate, impossible to defend. It was simply not viable. But, untrained, she only saw her name engraved on a golden crown and ignored the satisfied looks on her counterparts faces.

The minute the treaty was signed, the Empire collapsed, no longer held by any kind of pretence of unity. They heard more than saw the fall, felt it in their bones and on their skin, as if a protective layer had been suddenly ripped away. There were no last words, no sentimental goodbyes, no parting kiss on their forehead. They had come back to find empty chambers, his corpse already vanished with the mystery of such a powerful being’s disappearance.

Marianne was now, for the first time, truly alone, without a protector in these borders that didn’t even match the ones she had held as a roman province, alienated from any other entity that might have meant something to her once. All decisions were her king’s to make, and all consequences were hers to carry. There would be no excuses and no second chances.

She felt like she was walking on the edge of a precipice, seconds away from leaping when she wasn’t yet sure she could fly. But not right this instant, not yet, not now, just a moment, just a little bit longer. She had been crying for hours, she wasn’t even sure she still had any tears left. She had tried to sort through the feelings that submerged her, so similar to when Rome had disappeared yet worse in a way she hadn’t thought was possible.

Humiliation at not being the only heir, even though she was the first, at not being enough. But was anyone ever enough ?

Betrayal at being left alone, abandoned again when he had promised he wouldn’t leave. But when had anyone ever kept their promise in the end ?

Frustration at being once again separated from one of the closest thing she had to a sibling. But what did family mean in their world ?

Anger at not having a say in it, at having to follow orders, at losing a form of freedom she didn’t know she had until it was too late. But wasn’t that a country’s fate ?

Grief at losing someone who had been a mentor for a bit less than 400 years, and watching the hope of safety and peace she had built disappear with him. But wasn’t that hope always an illusion ?

Guilt at benefiting from his death, at being one of the causes of it, at the part of her which thrived with the power she could feel at the tip of her fingers. But was she really to blame ?

Fear of not being up to the task, of making mistakes, of failing, of dying in turn. But what if she didn’t ?

And she prayed and prayed, in this chapel which had been his heart, spilling out the sacred words which for the first time in centuries felt almost foreign to her, when all she wanted to do was scream her rage to the world and run her sword through whoever came across her path until they felt the same pain as the one convulsing in her chest.

They expected her to be glad, to rejoice in her newfound independence, to enjoy standing on her own two feet. She had waited so long for this. She had been trained, and endlessly prepared for it. But she had witnessed the death of too many entities to consider it a blessing. Now that the time was there, she didn’t know if she had the strength for it, not when she was already paying an immeasurable price for it.

She heard the door open and close behind her, the sound resonating in the cold church. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. After all, he had to leave too, had to stand on his own in his land as well. Her eastern counterpart knelt next to her without a word. For a while, they stayed there, head bent in front of the cross, facing the same direction, unmoving as if time itself would still with them, the only sound between them the soft murmurs of latin words.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, interrupting her litany, and took a deep breath as if to quiet his hesitation. His voice, although he kept it soft, seemed to echo in the empty chapel.

“I’ve talked with Middle Francia this morning.”

He received no reaction, so he continued.

“She said she was thinking of changing her name. She wants to be called Lotharingia now, as a tribute to her prince… I doubt Italy will agree.”

A choked sound escaped Marianne’s lips, eyes still fixed on the ground before her. From the corner of her vision, she saw him turn towards her.

“Marianne, I …”

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

Another silence passed between them, before he spoke again.

“She was pale, paler than usual. I don’t think- You know she was always weaker than us. She was-“ His voice turned to a whisper. “She was _coughing_.”

“We just defeated her. She’s probably going to get stronger. Sometimes it means nothing, if it’s just a little-“

“It’s not just a little anything ! She’s sick ! You know this !” He interrupted, louder, before bringing his voice down again. “She isn’t going to make it.”

Marianne finally turned her head towards him, violet eyes meeting blue. Blue eyes that looked so much like the ones she had trusted, like the ones which had smiled at her and held her world together. There was a reddish shimmer in them. So he _had_ been crying too.

“She won’t hold the imperial title forever.”, East Francia told her.

“What are you trying to say ?” She knew exactly what he was trying to say.

“She’s going to disappear, eventually. But it doesn’t have to be the end for us. We can re-form the empire once she’s gone.”

She examined the other kingdom for a while before looking back at the cross in front of her.

“Even if she does end up dead, we’re separate countries now. We have rival kings with equal power, and they will never agree to share, even you must realise this.”

“We can try to convince them, there has to be _something_ we can do.”, he insisted.

“Hah ! Good luck with that !” she laughed at him bitterly. Had he learned nothing all these years ?

“So what, you’re just going to give up ? Are you really going to tell me you’re alright with this ?!”

“Of course I’m not alright !”, she shouted, turning towards him fully, her voice cracking in the end, “Do I look alright ?!”

He looked like he was about to say something before deciding against it. His usually controlled expression was a mixture of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to decipher. Marianne inhaled loudly to try and keep a semblance of composure.

“And then what ?” she asked.

“What ?”

“Assuming we _could_ recreate the empire, somehow. Then what ?”

“I… don’t know.”, he admitted, “It won’t bring him back.”

“Nothing will bring him back.”, she said, more to herself than to him.

There was a pause between them.

“Then I suppose we’ll just… _be_ the empire.”

“Together ?”

His mouth quirked into a half smile. “Would it be that bad ?”

A part of her mind provided an answer to that question but she pushed it down before it could reach her lips. There was something so defenceless, almost childish, in the way he laid his idea in front of her, like he was convinced things couldn’t get worse, that it would all soon just be a bad memory.

“What if it goes wrong ? What if one of us takes over ? I won’t give up what I have –“

“And neither will I, but-“

“-I can’t go back to being ruled over now, not after everything I-“

He tried to grab her arm but she swatted his hand away. They stared at each other, equally surprised at the abrupt outburst. Marianne only then realised how erratic her breathing had suddenly become and instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

“I won’t be a vassal state.”, she stated firmly.

“I know”, he smiled sadly, “I know you won’t.”

There was a crashing sound outside which made them look towards the door, followed by a laugh and something that sounded like a swear, before the voices progressively faded away into silence again.

“How are you so sure about all this ?” she asked eventually, barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not. I just- I…” he held his breath for a few seconds. “I don’t want to be alone.”

It was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him. To be fair, it was probably the most vulnerable he had ever seen her too. It reminded her once again of how frail their existences were. It was a paradox they would have to reconcile with, how they had just gained immense power yet they were more at risk than they had ever been.

“Do you think it’s that simple ?” she asked. “We can just… keep it going ?”

“Why not ?”

Why not ? There were a million reasons why not. But at this moment, with the weight of the world seemingly looming over her shoulder, and those eager blue eyes fixed on her, emotions raw and desperate for anything to hold her back from the precipice, she couldn’t bring herself to mention a single one.

As if he could feel her reluctance fade, he held out his hand towards her, palm towards the sky like a hopeful promise.

“Marianne, please. We have to try.”

She reached out her hand slowly, not looking away. She wanted to hope that there was a chance. Maybe there was a way, maybe they could still salvage this somehow, maybe, maybe-

The second their hands touched, they both let out a small cough.

He gasped and she jumped back on her feet away from him as if she had been burnt. Like a spell had been broken, they both stood, facing each other with wide eyes, minds scrambling to make sense of this, to say something, anything.

There can only be one Empire.

Fresh tears ran down Marianne’s cheeks and she felt the already broken pieces of her heart shatter again, as reality came crashing down on them. The treaty was already signed. The kings were already crowned. The wedge between them was already too great. There was no way back.

There can only be one.

She felt her stomach twisting uncomfortably as yet another wave of fear and betrayal came over her. She should have known. She should have seen it coming. She was the oldest, and the most experienced, relentlessly trained for this moment. They had even been warned, even if she only now understood the true meaning of it.

And Marianne, she had let herself be swept away by a few earnest and candid words, by a promise which could never be kept. She had dared to hope for a happy ending, had allowed herself to be vulnerable. Trust was a luxury their kind couldn’t afford. Never again.

Now that the initial shock was receding, a strange sense of calm fell over her. Suddenly, her mind was at peace, her raging emotions still there but balanced by newer, sturdier feelings. Determination. Assurance. Tenacity. All she had been taught seemingly clicked into place, and the path before her appeared clearer than ever.

There must have been a shift in her stance, a steeling of her expression, a darkening in her eyes, which snapped Eastern Francia out of the stupor where his own racing thoughts had plunged him. He took a step towards her, one hand reaching forward.

“No-“

“Stay away from me !”

Marianne backed away slowly until she felt the chapel’s door against her heels. She straightened her back and held her head high.

“Wait, please-“

She pulled the door open just enough to stand in the doorway, eyes still fixed on his. There was something almost endearing in the way he was calling her name, pleading her. He looked so scared, like a lost child, such a far cry from the courageous knight he always pretended to be. And there was a sick twist of satisfaction and vanity within her now, in seeing him like this, in knowing she had that power, if only for a moment. So this is what it felt like.

There will only be one

“Keep the imperial crown if you want.”

“Please-“

If this was her fate, then so be it.

“But I suggest you find yourself another name.”

“No-“

I won’t let you kill me.

“I am the Kingdom of the Franks, and I will be known as such.”

“Marianne-“

I will live, no matter what.

“Oh but don’t worry, you’re not rid of me yet.”

With a final glance towards the heart of the chapel, one ultimate indulgence like a parting gift to her former self, Marianne let the door fall shut behind her for the last time, ignoring the calls for her name, and walked back into the sun. And with each step she took, all the pain and the hurt which had led her to seek refuge inside moulded itself into her bones and built an armour around her.

This treaty would not be the end for her. It was just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a short story, but as I wrote, I wanted to put so much in it that it ended up as a longer one. It covers a part of history which is not described in detail in the manga. It’s not meant to follow the canon. I had so much to put in that it's maybe a bit messy, so I might modify it a little in the future, but I'm kinda proud of how it turned out. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you thought of it, or your headcanons about that time, or ask me questions about things I mentioned. Comments are always welcome !


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